


The Great Comet

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Coma, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reading Aloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 09:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: “Like I was saying,” Alex says, managing to scold and inform him simultaneously, “they say you can hear people you love. That’s supposed to help.”“Did it help you?” Michael presses and the furrow in Alex’s brow smoothes out as his defenses go up.“I didn’t have anyone I loved there to talk to me,” he reminds him.





	The Great Comet

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: “I was comatose for weeks. I wasn’t supposed to make it, somehow I did. But I can’t deny that a part of me wishes I hadn’t and it terrifies me.” Alex has been sullen and zoning out after what happened in the finale, it’s about Michael, it’s about his own battles and Michael needs to make sure Alex is surviving this.

War and Peace sounds great hitting the wall.

Seriously it was thoughtful as hell for those Russian Moralists to write such big, boring books. It’s almost like they knew one day a pissed off alien would be throwing them against walls. They’re great for that, they suck at everything else. Max’s current state makes a lot more sense if this is the shit he’s reading. Michael’s halfway through the stupid book and he’s already praying for death. And he hasn’t even bookmarked or underlined any of the passages like someone laying in the bed.

With a noise of frustration he gets up and retrieves the book.

The old fashioned way.

Michael is piecing his life together instead of making it a Miley Cyrus song. And that means staying out of trouble. That and apparently reading bedtime stories to a lump in the bed. Max is a serial cuddler, seeing him laid out like this is weird. Michael doesn’t like it. Kyle says it’s a matter of time and it’s up to him but Michael doesn’t believe that. Max wouldn’t choose this. In his bones he refuses to believe that he would choose putting him and Iz through this. He lumps himself in there against the doubt because believing that Max was telling the truth that he was never alone is his only lifeline in this.

“These two better get their shit sorted or I’m suing,” Michael snaps as he thumbs back to the page he’s on.

“Which two?” Alex glances at the book, “ah,” he says, followed quickly by, “I’m here for a vitals check.”

Kyle’s been making himself somewhat scarce. Not just because of how their last interaction got, but because at some point he’s going to have to choose between being a doctor and being a friend. The longer they can delay that the better for the whole secrecy thing. The person with the second most amount of

medical training is Alex, so they avoid any mind tripping of doctors. Michael watches as Alex checks a few of the monitors.

“Can he even hear me?”

Alex looks over at him. Michael bites his bottom lip. He isn’t sure he even has the right to ask that. Alex is the only person he knows whose been through anything like this. He’ll read every one of the big, dog eared books Max has in his glorified spank bank, he just wants to know there’s a chance it’s working. Kyle’s a good doctor and doesn’t give him false hope, just gentle encouragement. The truth is that the only thing Michael’s ever had faith in, the only person, is Alex. All things require proof and as much as he likes to tell himself Alex is one of them, he isn’t. He’s in his own category in Michael’s highly clinical mind.

“They say—“

“Could you hear?” Michael asks.

Alex looks at him again and Michael ignores the pain that laces through him as Alex’s features harden. Defenses go up. Michael’s not here to talk about them, he’s here for Max. Same as Alex.

“Like I was saying,” Alex says, managing to scold and inform him simultaneously, “they say you can hear people you love. That’s supposed to help.”

“Did it help you?” He presses and the furrow in Alex’s brow smoothes out as his defenses go up.

“I didn’t have anyone I loved there to talk to me,” he reminds him.

Michael’s stomach crunches at the same time the familiar anger starts to bubble. Alex didn’t have anyone and it breaks his heart, in no small part because he did and some combination of pride and fear and misunderstanding kept them apart. He’d have read to Alex. He’d have done anything. More stupid things than he’d do for Max. But he can’t say that and he can’t give Alex shit for thinking he was alone. Alex breaks his gaze with a tight, cold smile and finishes his checkup. He calls Kyle and speaks quietly to him before hanging up.

“Kyle says everything’s fine,” he says.

“Thanks,” Michael replies.

Alex nods and leaves.

Michael looks down at the book in his lap with a sinking feeling. Then he looks back over at Max’s serene face. Michael has spent his life on the precipice of an endless pit of anger. If he was a character in one of the thick tomes, he’d be an antihero at best. Ignoring the anger and any other urges, he picks up the book and starts to read aloud again. Max doesn’t stir. The part that he gets to has a comet in it and, to be fair, it’s not quite as boring as the rest of it. Max seems to agree, given how much underlining is on the pages. Michael tries to inject enthusiasm in his voice, though he’s sure it’s making the author roll in his grave. The book starts to get boring again and he sighs, not expecting to be joined by another breath.

“I always liked that part,” Alex says, pushing off the wall.

“You’re quiet,” Michael says.

“You’re just lost in the story,” Alex contradicts and taps his leg for good measure.

“Please, you’re quiet for anyone. It’s unnerving that you only got one leg,” Michael points out. Alex gives a dry laugh and continues to check, reports to Kyle and then back to him, “Kyle says you’re taking the night shift,” he says.

“I’m fine,” Michael promises.

“It’s not my business,” Alex says firmly, “I just don’t want you to—“

“Relapse?”

Alex presses his lips together.

“Look the only acetone around is for when that guy wakes up. Bottles are all sealed and accounted for. And I’m fine,” he promises, “not even an itch. It’s just War and Peace,” he says holding the book up, “and War reading to Peace.”

Alex nods and turns around. In a split second, Michael figures if he’s going to be up all night sulking and reading moralistic Russian literature, he might as well go full Max Evans with it. He puts the book down and gets up as Alex pauses by the door.

“Hey, uh, Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“I’d have read to you,” Michael says, “when you were—“ he motions towards Max, “I would have.”

Alex gives him a long look and there’s no surprise there, which kind of hurts. But there’s no walls there either, which is something he wasn’t expecting. Without them Alex looks tired and hurt, Michael thinks he can see the new hurts on him too. Maybe more than just the ones his carelessness has put there. But Alex doesn’t run, he just lingers there like a ghost. One that Michael desperately wants to pull to his side of things rather than let the other side have him. Finally Alex looks at him with something in his eyes that cuts to Michael’s soul.

“Maybe I would have heard you,” Alex says.

Michael tightens his jaw and Alex breaks eye contact, taking a breath before meeting his eyes again.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says.

Michael stares at the door where he was standing before coming back to the chair and dropping into it. He feels like he’s on autopilot. If you can hear the people you love, then maybe Alex still loves him. Maybe there’s a chance. He reaches for the book and realizes there’s a hand over it. Which he stares at for a full ten seconds before it registers that its Max’s hand and his brothers eyes are open and looking at him blearily.

“Max,” he breathes and scrambles forward to get the phone, only to be stopped by Max grabbing his collar.

“Go after him.”


End file.
